


Mistakes Never Die

by im_fairly_witty



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Death, Despair, Gen, Poison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_fairly_witty/pseuds/im_fairly_witty
Summary: What if Ernesto Hadn't Meant the Poison to *Kill*?[Written in shallow prose.]





	Mistakes Never Die

Ernesto feels backed into a corner, not only has his best friend left him for Imelda, but he’s also leaving him and taking his,  _their_  dreams and future with him. Hector is going, there’s nothing he can do about that, Ernesto is desperate but he’s not a monster. He’s been Hector’s older brother practically since the chamaco was born, getting into an occasional fist-fight sure, that’s regular boy-stuff, but never anything truly malicious.

But…if Hector really is abandoning him, really is leaving him for good, giving up on everything that they’ve worked and dreamed and wished for for YEARS, their entire childhoods, then Ernesto cant just go quietly into that good night. Hector has other priorities, fine, whatever, Ernesto gets that, but Ernesto doesn’t have a loving family to go back to, not once Hector leaves him behind. All that’s left for Ernesto is in the future that is even now slipping away.

And so Ernesto starts to feverishly think of what small bit of Hector that he can keep for himself, of how he could trap enough of Hector’s brilliance (which is what’s gotten them even this far) and then use that to get him the rest of the way to their goal after Hector’s gone home, given up on their dream, on their future, on Ernesto.

Because Ernesto does not give up.

And one night, as he’s lying awake staring at the stucco ceiling of the room of that night’s inn, Hector’s slow sleeping breathing the only sound in the room, Ernesto realizes exactly what he can do.

The songbook. Hector never lets it out of his sight, but if the songbook were to disappear the night of his departure, only to be mailed back to him a month later with a profuse letter of apology (a _migo, forgive me, but I couldn’t resist using some of your brilliance after you left. I hope everything is going well for you and your family and that you’ve already written even more songs for them_ ) then what would Hector be able to do about it?

It was perfect. Hector could go home and Ernesto could go on and they would still be hermanos.

And that’s when there’s a sick twisting feeling in Ernesto’s gut, because he knows that as long as Hector’s conscious that songbook isn’t going to mysteriously disappear. He turns over in his bed and watches Hector sleeping peacefully on the other cot across the room.

Ernesto knows that the songbook is in the suitcase under Hector’s bed, he can see the case from here, but he also knows that it’s the first thing Hector will look for when he wakes up. No. If the songbook is going to disappear it will have to be right when Hector is already leaving. He’s been dropping hints for days, their arguments getting worse, but he hasn’t actually bought a train ticket yet.

And that’s when Ernesto decides on his plan. Once Hector is really going out the door Ernesto will slip him  _just_  enough poison to knock him out, just enough for Hector to wake up on the train with a bad headache and a blurry memory. He’ll think he ate something bad and won’t notice the songbook is gone until he’s already home.

And so Ernesto goes back to sleep, doing his best to ignore the terrible foreboding feeling in his gut. After all, it’s the only way.

And so then imagine how much worse that pain becomes the moment his trembling hand actually drips  _poison_  into his  _best friend’s_  glass? Or the moment that Hector’s face first contorts in uncontrolled agony? But no, that’s still when Ernesto thinks everything is just going according to plan. Hector collapses on the cobblestone and Ernesto wants to throw up, but he follows through, fishing the songbook out of the suitcase and tucking it into his own coat pocket.

Now he just has to get Hector on the train, tell an attendant that he’s very ill and to notify his family when he arrives in Santa Cecilia. Everything’s fine, this is the plan.

But when he turns to scoop up Hector, to carry him to the station just like he’s carried him dozens of time throughout their lives, he sees that something is very wrong.

Hector’s eyes are half-open and glassy. There is a bit of foam at the corner of his mouth. His head is lolled back at an unnaturally crooked angle from where he’s fallen on the pavement.

And that is when the nightmare begins.

Ernesto knows nothing of medicine, but something inside of him is already as dead as Hector, knowing the overwhelmingly terrible truth even before he’s frantically scooped up his childhood friend. Before he’s hoarsely whispered his name, before he’s frantically loosened Hector’s tie so that he can feel for his nonexistent pulse, to check for hopelessly absent breath.

And it’s his fault.

And now he’s pleading, he begging Hector to wake up, to start breathing. He stands, holding Hector’s gangly body, taller than him for several years now, and he suddenly feels like every window in the empty street is watching him, that the night sky is collapsing in on him, that the very cobblestones under his feet know what he’s done. Hector is gone, he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone  _he’s gone_  and what Ernesto is cradling to his chest now is all that’s left, it will never truly be Hector again. Ernesto is suddenly, truly, absolutely and irreversibly alone.

And what does he do?

He panics.

The police would know it was murder. A hospital would know it was poison. A convent would know it was hellfire. A townsperson would know it was guilt. Santa Cecilia would know it was absolute, irreversibly, damningly, condemning his fault. That Ernesto had become a monster.

He will never be able to go back. Just like Hector.

And so with nowhere left to go, Ernesto sets off alone. He is alone as he digs a shallow grave outside of town, jumping at every noise. He is alone as he lays Hector in it, smoothing his friend’s tousled hair for the final time. He is alone as he buries him, alone as he violently vomits into the bushes the moment he’s finished and then staggers back into town as the sun rises.

He is alone as he stares at the songbook, now lying on the hotel room floor, for a full day and night.

Alone, as he leaves town the next day. Alone as he does their next performance.

As he signs his first record deal. As he acts in his first movie.

Lives a long and successful life.

Dies a short and flashy death.

Wakes up on the other side still surrounded by fans.

Who want to hear the same stolen songs he’s been peddling for years.

And even as he grins and sings and plays, always pretending that everything is as bright for him as it must seem,

Ernesto can never, never forget

that he is really and truly,

so very, very

very

very

alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this ramble, it's a different prose style than I usually use, but I felt it was a good level of detachment to watch Ernesto's reactions. You can come visit me on Tumblr to get more of my Coco ramblings and art. 
> 
> If you like what I do, you can also buy me a virtual coffee (a kind of digital tip jar) to help me justify my constant writing time vs. homework struggle. 
> 
> \- Wit
> 
> https://im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com/
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/F2F270VJ


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